The Billionaire I Left Behind

Mia's POV

Christie's London headquarters, last day of the spring auction preview.

I was crouching in a corner of the exhibition hall adjusting the angle of a Modigliani portrait when my supervisor's lowered voice came through my earpiece.

"Nightingale's friend has arrived."

I didn't turn around. My knees were already going numb from crouching too long, so I just continued fine-tuning the painting's hanging hook.

"This 'Lady with a Fan' has questionable provenance."

A voice came from behind me, low and familiar—a voice I would never mistake, even in death.

My hand froze, then suddenly there was a buzzing in my ears. My supervisor seemed to say something else through the earpiece, but I couldn't make out a single word.

Calvin Rothschild, the person I'd been hiding from for five years.

Three months ago, I had just seen a photo of the new chairman of the Rothschild Family Foundation in "Art News."

The headline read boldly: "Old Money's New Patriarch, 33-Year-Old Takes Control of Billion-Dollar Family Trust."

The man in the photo had cold, stern features, completely different from the young man in my memory who used to cook red wine poached pears for me.

"Excuse me, staff member," Calvin's voice came closer, "I'm asking you about this painting's provenance."

I slowly stood up. Over these five years, I had learned to control my expressions. I turned around and gave him a standard professional smile. "Mr. Rothschild, the provenance documents for this painting are in the curatorial office. Would you like me to take you there to review them?"

Calvin's pupils suddenly contracted as he stared at me intently.

"Mia Sterling." He said my name accurately.

The people around us immediately fell silent. The chairman, reading the situation, tactfully led the others away to attend to other exhibition guests.

"Mr. Rothschild has a good memory," I struggled to maintain my smile. "Just a brief encounter five years ago, I'm surprised you still remember me."

"Brief encounter." Calvin chewed on these words, his lips curving into a smile without warmth. "Does Miss Mia have a poor memory now? You said you wanted to marry 'someone who could give you security.' Did you find him?"

I instantly clenched my hands, nails digging deep into my palms.

That night five years ago, in the student apartment in Zurich.

"Why?" Calvin stood in the doorway, blood still on his scarf, eyes red as he looked at me.

"We're not compatible. I want to marry someone who can give me security. You're smart, but you have no money, so unfortunately..." I bit my teeth and spoke this lie.

The truth was I had discovered I was pregnant, but I knew Calvin's account only had his meager teaching assistant salary. I didn't want to burden him with more responsibility—after all, I thought he was really poor at the time.

"Thanks to Mr. Rothschild," I heard myself say, "I found him."

"Then congratulations." Calvin's eyes darkened. He let out a heavy breath, straightened his cufflinks, "Withdraw this painting from the auction. Things with questionable provenance will only cause trouble when sold."

With that, Calvin turned and left, just like the departing figure from years ago.

I stood there, the numbness in my knees spreading to my calves, like countless ants gnawing at my bones.

I looked down at my work shoes that I'd been wearing for five years, feeling completely out of place with the crystal chandeliers and Persian carpets here.

Of course, even more out of place with Calvin.

These five years, I had turned myself into a screw, fitting tightly into slots labeled "single mother" and "independent woman," but Calvin's appearance today had caused cracks in all those slots simultaneously.

The preview ended at nine in the evening.

After saying goodbye to my supervisor, I grabbed my backpack and ran outside quickly.

Only after getting in the taxi did I temporarily breathe a sigh of relief.

A month ago, I was transferred to London headquarters for work. It was called short-term support, but actually the branch office was planning layoffs, and I didn't want to lose my job, so I agreed to come.

The staff apartment provided by headquarters wasn't ready yet, so my child and I were temporarily staying at my senior classmate Zoe's place.

Zoe was now doing her PhD at LSE and had just finished her thesis, so she happened to be free to help me watch my child temporarily.

One reason I originally wanted to stay at the branch was that I had just arranged a school for my son, and coming here would require a lot of relationship-building to handle the enrollment procedures.

After nearly an hour of bumping in the taxi, by the time I returned to Zoe's apartment in Kentish Town, it was already ten at night.

"You're back? Leo's already asleep. He was very good, could bathe and sleep by himself, didn't need me to do anything." Seeing me come in, Zoe came over with a smile.

"Zoe, sorry to trouble you." I smiled at Zoe with a bit of apology.

I hadn't been at headquarters long and had many things to handle in the transition, with no time to look after my son. Fortunately, Zoe helped me take care of Leo, otherwise I wouldn't know what to do.

Zoe waved her hand, "Why be so polite with me? Taking care of him is my responsibility."

She seemed to notice I wasn't in a good mood and pulled me to sit on the sofa.

"Mia, what's wrong? You look so unhappy. Did someone bully you?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Then what happened?"

I leaned on Zoe's shoulder, hesitated for a moment, then spoke up.

"I saw Calvin today."

"What?!" Zoe screamed in shock, suddenly turning around.

I hadn't expected her movement and slipped into her arms unexpectedly.

Zoe pulled me up, looking at me seriously.

"I didn't mishear, right? You saw him?"

I nodded.

"Are you sure you saw a living person, not a ghost?" Zoe looked at me suspiciously. I felt like she was already considering the possibility that I had developed mental illness from emotional distress.

"Not a hallucination, it was really him." I sighed helplessly.

Hearing this, Zoe was silent for a while before asking, "Did you explain to him? Did you tell him about Leo?"

I shook my head.

Zoe frowned, then as if thinking of something, her expression suddenly changed: "Calvin got married?"

"Haven't heard about it."

"He has a fiancée?"

"I don't know." I smiled bitterly, "I didn't ask, and I have no right to ask."

"Mia, did you just find out today what his family does?"

"Um, I found out three months ago, saw it with my own eyes today," I paused, "He's from the Rothschild family, the one you know about."

Zoe gasped, her cushion sliding to the floor.

She bent down to pick it up, her voice changing pitch: "Didn't you say his family ran a small gallery?"

"That's what he said, that's what I thought too."

"Then why did he lie to you?"

"He hid his identity when he went to Zurich for his PhD. The school I attended was sponsored by his family foundation." I pulled at the corner of my mouth, "Probably wanted to test me."

"This counts as a test?" Zoe's voice suddenly rose, "If he had told you earlier, you two wouldn't have—"

She didn't finish, but we both understood.

"Zoe," I heard myself say, "Those shoes he was wearing were custom Berluti. One pair costs enough for Leo and me to live on for three years."

I smiled uglily.

"How do I tell him? Tell him the reason I broke up with him was because I was afraid he'd work himself to death if he knew I was pregnant? Tell him I secretly had his child and now he should pay to support us?!"

"I can't say it. What right do I have to say it?"